


oops i did it again

by TheEagleGirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, milestone: First christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 23:44:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12221391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEagleGirl/pseuds/TheEagleGirl
Summary: This is what a one-night stand is, and this is what she wants to remember it as—a hot night with a complete stranger. A thing to make the numbness go away, to slow the fear of where her life is going. A stranger.Only he’s not such a stranger now.





	oops i did it again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingsnow (bravegentlestrong)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravegentlestrong/gifts).



> For the jonsaexchange.

They didn’t exchange numbers.

Sansa only knows his name: Jon Snow. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t look him up, she wouldn’t stalk his Facebook to find out more about him, she wouldn’t go back to that bar and try to find him again. This is what a one-night stand  _is_ , and this is what she wants to remember it as—a hot night with a complete stranger. A thing to make the numbness go away, to slow the fear of where her life is going. A stranger.

Only he’s not such a stranger now, standing in the middle of her parents’ living room. He looks confused, horrified and more than a little sick—Sansa’s sure that if anyone were looking at her, her expression would mirror his.

“ _What_?” Arya finally chokes out, breaking the silence.

Their father’s tried to settle on a smile, but it’s really more of a grimace. “This is your half-brother. He was born before your mother and I got married. His mom—Ashara—and I knew each other in college.”

Jon looks utterly out of place in their tastefully decorated room. He’s standing—they’re all standing—and his scuffed sneakers and black jeans clash with the warm yellows and browns of the living room. It had been that look that attracted Sansa to him in the first place, that bad-boy look, so far from any guy she’d ever look at twice. He’d been less bad boy, though, when she spoke to him, yelling over the noise of the bar. More of an overworked student than anything, it seemed, studying history and working on his thesis. It hadn’t taken Sansa much time to decide she didn’t mind that he was cuter when he smiled—rather than the broody look she’d spotted him with. Or that he was nice enough to offer her his soft leather jacket when they stepped out to smoke.

Or that he’d gone down on her without a word of protest. He’d  _initiated_ , for heaven’s sake. The next morning, Sansa had done the walk of shame with an extra bounce to her step—Joff had never made sure she orgasmed when they’d had sex, and this sex had been  _amazing_ , mind blowing.

A one-time thing. Sansa had been firm with herself.

A one-time thing. She was never going to see him again. Except here he is, and he’s her  _half-brother._  Sansa thinks she’s going to faint.

Her mother doesn’t look happy. Her face is pinched, but she still offers a strained smile. “Jon’s mother passed a month ago,” she tells them. “It was her wish that your father and Jon get to know one another. And your father wanted you all to meet him.”

Sansa can’t keep standing. She sits heavily on the couch. She can’t tear her eyes away from his face. How did she not see it? He looks like Father, in the light. It had been dark in the bar, but now she can see the dark grey of his eyes, the long Stark face.

Only a week ago, she’d picked him up in a bar and gone home with him. Sansa has never been so rash before, she’s never done something so stupid. That was supposed to be  _it_ , her last wild night before committing to her law program, committing to Joff.

Jon’s voice is unsteady when he opens his mouth to speak. “It was nice to meet you all,” he tries, sounding unconvinced. His eyes dart around the room, and finally they meet Sansa’s. Despite herself, a bolt of electricity runs through her body, remembered heat from their night together. Her face is red, she’s sure.

“I have to go,” Jon continues, clearing his throat.

There is silence when their father walks him to the door. Sansa is still in a state of shock. And what’s more—she can’t forget that moment, when his eyes met hers.

* * *

Just because Sansa didn’t want to take his number down doesn’t mean she forgot where he lives. Okay, she did forget which block it was. She was  _slightly_ drunk that night, but thankfully she checks the record of her uber trips and there it is—proof of her bad decisions, his address staring her in the face.

His hair isn’t tied up when he answers the door, but messy in the way it’d been the morning she left. Sansa suppresses the urge to run her fingers through his locks. She’d done it that morning, when he kissed her goodbye in the doorway.

This is too much—not just the déjà vu, but the swirling of anxiety and something  _else_  in Sansa’s belly.

“Sansa,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I—what are you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” Sansa answers. “Can I come in, or are we going to do this out here, where the neighbors can hear?”

His hand clenches on the doorknob. “Come in,” he says, swinging the door open.

His apartment is cleaner than she remembers. He’s doing laundry, and it’s half-folded on the couch. The place is tiny, barely bigger than a closet, but tidy. He’s in his last year of grad school, a TA at NYU. Sansa thought she forgot everything about him—she’d wanted to forget, let it be a meaningless one night stand. But some things must have gotten through, like the stack of papers he’s grading at the table, that he’d made her coffee before she left, offered to pay for her uber. God, the best sex she’s ever had, the most considerate guy she’s been with—and her  _brother_.

“Look,” he says, fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater. “What we did was fucked up. There’s no way to…no other way to see it. We need to forget it.”

“Agreed,” Sansa says, her heart clenching. “I—it was insane of me, anyway, I’ve never…”

She trails off. God, he’s hot. Why can’t she stop looking at him?

Jon seems to be making a decision. Finally, he sits down at his rickety table and rubs his eyes. “My mom died last month,” he says. “I was lonely when we met at that bar. My friend Grenn wanted to go out for his birthday, and Sam told me I had to get out before I fused to my couch. And you—” he cuts himself off, pained. “We need to forget that it ever happened.”

Sansa swallows and nods. “I know,” she says. Up close, he looks tired and worried. And then his eyes are on hers and they’re so dark. He doesn’t look like he wants to forget. Sansa doesn’t either, she realizes. She lets her eyes fall to his lips.

Before she knows what’s happened, they’re both reaching for each other, and she’s on his lap and her mouth is on his  _again_ —

God, it’s sweeter than she remembers, more desperate. She never wants it to end.

* * *

When their father invites Jon to stay for Christmas, Sansa doesn’t actually think Jon will show up. When she makes her way into the house, though, his boots are in the foyer, still crusted with snow.

“Jon’s here,” Arya tells Sansa. Her eyes are bright. “He’s really cool,” she continues, while Sansa struggles out of her coat. “He’s into baseball and history—and Rickon’s been following him around for two hours.” She chews her lip. “Mom’s not happy, though.”

“I’m sure,” Sansa says breezily, kicking off her shoes and already moving towards the kitchen. “Mom! I’m home!”

She sees Jon out of the corner of her eye, wavering in the doorway to the living room, but keeps her eyes straight ahead.

They are civil. It’s a good word for them. Jon doesn’t linger on her. His eyes never meet hers for too long. Sansa’s glad, because it would just make this too hard. The sick feeling since she found out two weeks ago hasn’t gone away, but neither has her  _wanting_. It’s better to just have this distance, for now. Until they can behave normally, though Sansa isn’t sure that will happen any time soon. He even helps her set the table, and they have a non-conversation, using Robb as their shield.

* * *

Joff stops by to drop off a present. Sansa doesn’t doubt his mother had her assistant buy it and had to bribe Joff into bringing it along. Sansa gives him a smile and kiss, politely asks if he’d like to stay for Christmas dinner.

She knows he won’t. He’s meeting with a classmate of his tonight, after his family dinner. He declines, shakes her father’s hand, and checks out Arya’s ass all in the space of six seconds.

Sansa’s relieved to see him go. She doesn’t check to see if Jon had watched their exchange. The weight of his eyes on them was heavy enough to feel.

“Don’t forget about the brunch tomorrow,” Joffrey tells her in the doorway. “My mother told me you’re expected at eight. And that you shouldn’t eat all the lemoncakes, like you did last year.”

“I had two,” Sansa says flatly. The combination of stress and eggnog (with tequila sneaked in) has been getting to her. “Besides, I’m not sure if I can go,” she continues, surprising herself. “I’m going to be tired.”

Joff raises an eyebrow, challenging her. “My mother wants you there.”

 _And you don’t_ , Sansa thinks. “I’m sure,” she says. “She’s also going to want to nurse her hangover. You know how she gets on Christmas, with the stress of Jaime and Tyrion and your grandfather staying over. She might not be in the entertaining mood tomorrow. You remember last year.”

Joff’s face flushes with annoyance. “You’re coming,” he insists. “It starts at eleven. Be there.” He barely looks at her when he leaves, but his parting words sting. “Try not to pig out too much tonight. My mother said you looked bloated last week.” He lays a perfunctory kiss on her cheek, already checking his phone. “I’m just looking out for you.”

* * *

“I’m glad you came, Jon,” Sansa says, halfway through dinner. Her face is still red with anger and embarrassment, her tongue loosened with the red wine. “It’s been really nice having an addition to the family, and I’m very glad you weren’t alone this Christmas. Aren’t you?”

He looks up, startled. This isn’t the  _normal_  they agreed on, pulling their clothes back, faces turned away in shame. They agreed to steer clear, to get along if they could. Not interrupt dinner conversation and  _talk_.

“Yeah,” he says at last. He’s barely touched anything on his plate, but he’s on his second glass of wine.

“Sansa wasn’t going to stay home this Christmas,” Robb interjects. “She was talking about heading to the Baratheons. I was maybe going to head to Jeyne’s. But I’m glad we stayed and I’m glad we’ve gotten this opportunity to know one another better.”

Bran raises his glass—sparkling water, but it carries the weight of a toast. “To family,” he says, awkwardly. But their father laughs and raises his glass as well.

Sansa makes sure his eyes meet hers when she drinks to that.

* * *

She’s angry and confused. She’s been this way for a while, no matter how much she wants to deny it. There is  _nothing_  that’s gone right these past few months, not school, not Joff, not  _Sansa_ , if she’s honest. She felt good with Jon. He made her forget, for a little bit.

She wants that again. And she wants it more than she wants to hate herself for what she’s done—what she did  _twice_  now.

Jon’s staying in Uncle Benjen’s old room, the end of the hall. It’s right next to her parents’ bedroom. Sansa is mostly sober by the time she makes the decision to slip inside.

“Jon,” she whispers. She hopes he’s awake. She hopes he’s not.

“Sansa?” He answers, his voice cutting through the dark. She can see his expression, when the lamp clicks on. He knows why she’s here.

She can’t forget who they are to each other. But she wants to, for tonight. Maybe more than just tonight.

“Merry Christmas?” she tries, sitting on the edge of the bed, putting a hand on his knee. “It doesn’t feel very happy to me, but I hope you enjoyed it. Arya and Rickon are obsessed with you now, and you even got my mom to crack a smile.”

Jon looks cautious. “Your mom has been nice.”

“For my father’s sake. You know that.”

Jon presses his lips together, and shifts. She keeps her hand where it is.

“That guy—”

“My boyfriend Joffrey,” Sansa supplies, her voice twisted and sharp as a nail.

“—Arya says he’s a bit of an asshole.”

“He’s a lot of an asshole,” Sansa says, turning away. “But we have plans. I’m going to be Mrs. Joffrey Baratheon.”

“You shouldn’t,” Jon says, softly. “You looked really upset after he left. You shouldn’t— _be_  with someone like that. You deserve better.”

Sansa laughs. It’s an ugly laugh, filled with pain and hurts she can’t show anyone. But Jon doesn’t really  _know_  her yet. There’s no harm in letting him see a little.

“What?” she challenges. “Like you?”

And with that, Sansa kisses him.

It’s soft, barely a press of skin. Vulnerable.

“I want you so much,” she confesses. “I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

Jon kisses her again.

Their first time had been fun. Their second was a flurry of desperation and tension. This is slow, exploratory. Sweet. Intense in a way Sansa hadn’t expected, when Jon pulls down her panties and groans in her mouth. A relief when she finally sinks down onto him, shaking and ready.

She doesn’t make it to brunch.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you enjoy? Then please leave a comment below! Also, you guys can follow me on tumblr (@the-eagle-girl)
> 
> Thank you :)


End file.
